


Of Trees and Traffic Cones

by AquaFontem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Traffic Cones, Uni!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3703051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaFontem/pseuds/AquaFontem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Why are you wearing that?’ </p><p>It was a reasonable question, even if Molly wasn’t sure that it was possible to ‘wear’ a traffic cone, particularly in the way the boy outside her bedroom door was attempting. </p><p>He was facing away from her, standing peculiarly still in the middle of the hallway, while she tried to prevent her eyes from straying to his bare backside: an endeavour that, ultimately, proved pathetic. </p><p>(Written for Liathwen's 221B Fanfic Challenge)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Trees and Traffic Cones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liathwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liathwen/gifts).



> Prompt: Helping each other find your missing clothes after waking up, hungover and still a lot drunk from a mutual friend’s party and dude why is my underwear hanging from the tree?
> 
> First Line: 'Why are you wearing that?' 
> 
> Last Line: 'That was a bad plan.' 
> 
> So I read the prompt and my mind automatically produced 'traffic cone'. I amused myself no end with that particular prop, but I am under no illusion that anyone else will find it funny, so please ignore the staggering immaturity of the jokes surrounding it. Also, views expressed within about the police are not my own. Enjoy!

‘Why are you wearing that?’ 

It was a reasonable question, even if Molly wasn’t sure that it was possible to ‘wear’ a traffic cone, particularly in the way the boy outside her bedroom door was attempting. 

He was facing away from her, standing peculiarly still in the middle of the hallway, while she tried to prevent her eyes from straying to his bare backside: an endeavour that, ultimately, proved pathetic. 

‘Molly, stop staring,’ he murmured, jolting her back to reality, which she reentered reluctantly, with reddened cheeks. 

‘H-How do you know my name?’ 

‘It’s written on the door,’ he returned absent-mindedly, and her eyes flicked to the whiteboard covered in her curly handwriting, as if she almost hadn’t believed that it was there. 

‘You might not have noticed that,’ she said defensively, wishing this stranger with the very nice arse far away. 

‘I notice everything.’ 

‘Have you noticed that all you’re wearing is a cone?’ She blamed her confidence on the alcohol that was still in her system from the party of the night before, which she supposed his current state of undress could also be traced back to.

He glanced back at her, his face a picture of irritation, a flash of orange catching her eye as the cone jutted out to the side, but he did not choose to formulate a reply. 

Instead, he brought himself closer to a mark on the wall, and she realised that he had been inspecting the hallway, rather than (as she would have done in his place) hurriedly and desperately locating some clothes. 

‘Are you looking for something?’ She asked, after a pause, wondering why she was choosing to ignore the thumping in her head, which was pleading with her to return to bed. 

He turned slowly, so that they were face to face for the first time, an incredulous expression etched on his (now obviously to her) handsome features. She thought it rather rich of him to regard her with such unveiled bewilderment: she was not the one relying on a piece of traffic equipment to protect her modesty, after all. 

‘Do I look like I’ve lost something?’ He looked pointedly from her to the cone- more than once to ensure she understood his implication- and whatever seriousness she’d been able to bring to the situation dissolved, instantaneously. ‘This isn’t funny,’ he said petulantly, in the face of her poorly suppressed laughter, tears streaming from her eyes. 

‘I-I’m sorry,’ the words mingled with her giggles, but she tried to show half their sincerity when she was able to speak properly. ‘Would you like me to help you find your clothes?’ She could sense that he was tempted to decline, and she wouldn’t have minded if he had, as she still wasn’t sure what possessed her to offer. 

‘You might prove useful, I suppose,’ his bared his teeth in what she supposed was a grin, before he started down the hallway again, progressing so quickly that she wasn’t sure for a moment whether he had accepted her help. 

He was nearly at the end of the corridor when she recovered herself, grabbing her keys to lock her door, and following the traffic cone like a ship to a beacon. 

******

‘What were you doing in my hallway, anyway?’ She knelt down to check under the pool table in the common room, glancing over at the boy who had introduced himself as Sherlock, who was pulling cushions off a sofa. 

‘Clueing- uh- looking for clues,’ he murmured, moving onto the armchair without replacing what he had upturned. She sighed, and put the cushions back for him. 

‘What are you: a detective?’ She asked scoffingly, but was surprised when he shrugged. 

‘Something like that.’ 

So far, they had managed to find one sock (which she’d put in her pocket for safekeeping), and his shirt, but they were keeping the cone until he had his underwear. 

‘So you’re a detective, who’s reading chemistry?’ Her voice was laced with confusion. ‘You’re not undercover are you?’ She enquired brightly, only half-serious: deciding she hadn’t been serious at all when he sighed at her in exasperation. 

‘No, Molly, I am not undercover. I just… assist the local police sometimes, that’s all.’ 

‘Do you expect me to believe that the police asked a university student to work on their cases?’ She folded her arms sceptically. 

‘I never said they asked for my help,’ he grinned at her, and she laughed, watching the impossible occur when his face was rendered even more attractive with a genuine smile. 

‘And are you a help or a hindrance?’ Neither of them realised that they had temporarily abandoned their search, standing opposite each other in the centre of the room, as close as Sherlock’s protruding… cone allowed. 

‘A help,’ he paused, ‘naturally. The force, in my limited experience, is full of closed-minded, unimaginative imbeciles, with very few exceptions.’ 

‘My dad’s a police officer,’ she said slowly, her eyes fixed on him as he fidgeted awkwardly. 

‘I-I…’ She supposed that he was not someone who stuttered often, which only made his current spluttering more enjoyable. ‘I… I apologise… Molly. I don’t always-‘

‘I’m… joking, Sherlock,’ a smile spread across her face at the confusion painted over his.

‘So your father…?’ 

‘Not a police officer,’ she confirmed.

‘That was rather evil of you,’ he regarded her thoughtfully, the corner of his mouth slowly curving upwards. She only hummed in response, sporting an unshakeable grin. 

‘I don’t think we’re going to find anything in here,’ she said, all but bouncing towards the door. ‘Come on, Mr…’ she paused, searching for the phrase. ‘Mr Consulting Detective. Let’s go and find you some trousers.’ She didn’t bother waiting for him, the door snapping shut behind her. 

‘Consulting detective,’ he repeated aloud, as if tasting the words on his tongue. ‘Not bad.’ 

****** 

‘Are those your…’ 

‘Yep,’ he replied, popping the ‘p’. 

‘And how did they get up there…?’ 

‘Absolutely no idea.’ 

They stood side by side in front of the tree, their necks craned in order to see the red silk boxers dangling from one of the branches. 

‘You had a wild night, didn’t you?’ She mused aloud, while he rubbed his neck sheepishly. ‘I’m quite interested to find out what possessed you to take all your clothes off though.’ 

‘I’m sure you are,’ her gaze snapped to him, narrowing her eyes until he gave up on smirking at her. 

‘There’s no way we’ll be able to get them down,’ she sighed, oblivious that her defeatism had only strengthened her companion’s resolve. 

‘Not with that attitude, Miss Hooper,’ he replied smoothly, dropping the traffic cone firmly to the ground, and ignoring the voice of his brother in his mind, informing him that he was being a show-off. 

‘Wha-What are you doing?’ She asked with unrestrained panic, her hands outstretched and her eyes averted, to protect herself from the co-shock.

‘Everyone’s still in bed,’ he said calmly. ‘No one’s going to see.’ 

‘I can see.’ She responded weakly, her eyes wide from the strain of keeping them trained on his face. 

‘You’re studying medicine, Molly, calm down.’ It was a good point, and Molly couldn’t quite explain why she wasn’t putting her clinical training into practice. ‘Right, I’ll give you a leg up-’

‘What?’ She found herself flummoxed again: this time for entirely different reasons. He had laced his fingers together, and was looking up at her expectantly, but there was no way she was… ‘I’m not climbing up there.’ He made a noise of exasperation. 

‘Why not? You’re lighter than me, so you can’t very well boost me up; there isn’t a ladder in sight; and my pants- which I need very much, by the way- are on one of the lowest branches.’ She crossed her arms, adamant. ‘Please?’ He said the word like it pained him, but with just enough desperation that Molly felt herself relenting. 

‘Fine,’ she murmured, placing her foot in his hands. ‘But if you drop me, so help me, I’ll…’ 

Her threat died away with the effort of climbing up the tree, attempting to retain some grace as Sherlock hoisted her up, until she had enough purchase in the branches to maneouvre herself into a straddling position. 

She began to edge forwards, towards the underwear hanging from the tip of the branch, but she was aware that the bough on which she sat became more delicate as it went on. 

Sherlock was attempting to direct her from below, but she silenced him with a glare: if he wanted to control the situation he should have placed himself on the bloody tree, rather than endangering her. 

The funny thing was, she didn’t feel all that in danger- was actually rather enjoying herself, and she had to admit that a large part of that was due to Sherlock. She found that she wanted to see him again, which was strange, considering the fact that not many relationships were forged on the basis of forcing someone to climb a tree. 

‘Molly!’ His voice jolted her so violently out of her thoughts that she almost lost her balance, gripping the branch with every muscle that she possessed. ‘You should be able to push them off from there.’ She stared down at him with all the fire that her eyes could muster (quickly reconsidering her previously friendly feelings), as she believed she had been clear that suggestions were not welcome. 

‘I’ll let them fall to the ground, and you can catch them,’ she replied with command, contented when he nodded back rather meekly. 

Molly placed herself horizontally across the branch, simultaneously throwing down her dignity, as she reached for the red fabric hanging tauntingly before her. Her fingertip just about met with the waistband, and she nudged it forwards, feeling it snag on the needled wood below it. 

The boxers concealed the actual tip of the branch, so when they finally came free it was a surprise to her, her body frozen as she watched them float happily towards their owner. 

‘Excellent, Molly, well done!’ Sherlock called up to her (eagerly putting his underwear on), but her own triumph at completing the job was being quickly replaced with the panic of wondering how in the hell she was going to get down. ‘I’ve got a good idea of where my trousers might be too, and then it’ll just be my shoes! You know, I thought you would be a burden, but I don’t think I could have done this without y- What are you still doing up there?’ If Molly ever reached the ground alive, she resolved that she would smack him. 

‘How am I supposed to get down?’ His eyes scanned the situation thoughtfully, until, finally, he placed himself carefully below her, standing with his arms outstretched. She didn’t want to ask, she really didn’t, but the curiosity that had got her in trouble so many times before now reared its head again as a comprehensive nuisance. ‘So what’s the plan, then?’ 

‘Don’t be obtuse, Molly. I intend to catch you,’ he said reasonably, and for some wild, mysterious reason, she found herself loosening her grip on the tree. 

She swung a leg over so that she was dangling above the ground, her hands encircling the branch, which felt spindly, and unsupportive beneath her nervous fingers. 

‘Come on, Molly, we don’t have all-’ She chose that moment to release herself, her eyes tightly closed as she hurtled to the ground, remaining that way even as she felt herself collide with something solid. 

When she opened them again, she found that he had not so much caught her as acted as a human crash mat, and that, rather embarrassingly, she had managed to pin him to the ground with her body. 

Her hands were braced either side of his head, her knees likewise at his waist, and his wide, unblinking eyes were demonstrative of his shock at their sudden proximity. 

‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry!’ She tried to drag herself to her feet, but something was impeding her, preventing her from pulling her body away from his. 

‘Molly.’ He sounded slightly strangled, and her concern for him increased tenfold. 

‘I must have crushed you! Are you hurt?’ 

‘Molly.’ His voice was firmer this time, and it cut through her frenzied worry, forcing her to assess the situation. 

Suddenly, she noticed the weight of his arms around her waist- responsible for her difficulty in standing up- and took note of the dilation of his pupils, as he stared imploringly up at her. A wavering hand rose to cup the back of her neck, his thumb grazing her jaw line, and drawing a slight gasp from her just as a large gulp sounded from him. Molly could feel his abdominal muscles contract as he pulled himself up to her, and took pity on him by leaning down herself, until they were inches away from what had been a foregone conclusion, ever since they had both realised how much fun they were having. 

‘Well, Molly,’ he murmured, her eyes slipping shut as he pressed one, teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth. ‘That was a bad plan.’

**Author's Note:**

> If you, for some wild reason, enjoyed that, go and check out Liathwen because her awesome challenge is the reason for its existence. If you did not enjoy it, check her out anyway, because she cannot be held responsible for my awful, horrid writing.


End file.
